


Tiny Tales

by I_am_Best



Series: Folklore Wanders [1]
Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: All the Wanders, American Folklore Creature Wander, Gen, Generic Rural Country, No Plot/Plotless, folklore AU, indeterminate time period, slice-of-life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-06 22:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10345440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_Best/pseuds/I_am_Best
Summary: Wanders are shy, helpful creatures who live all throughout the mountains. You'll never see one, but, if you're lucky, you'll know when they've been there. A mended screen, a jar of tea left steeping in the sun, flowers blooming out of season, orange fur and a mysterious dent in your pillow where they took a nap.... These are the signs of a Wander having wandered through.When Ms. Myrtle has to go to the hospital, leaving her house untended for who knows how long, a little hearth Wander moves in with his best pal, Sylvia. Soon enough he's joined by another Wander, who's happy to lend a hand taking care of the place.





	1. Chapter 1

The sun was high and bright, glowing on the edges of puffy, white clouds in a blistering blue sky. Butterflies and bees shared the air, drifting lazily around Wander as he walked along a deer trail between widely-spaced trees that dappled the ground in green-tinted light. The breezes blowing up from the valley were soft and cool against his greyish, shaggy fur. It was a great day for a walk. And he even had a destination this time, instead of simply seeing where the road led.

He'd heard while hiding under porches that a house up this way was empty. The owner had been sent to the hospital, and they didn't expect she'd live, but she didn't have any kin to take care of her place for if ( _if_ ) she made it back, nor friends to speak of. A real shame, they said, shaking their heads and shaking out matches as they puffed on pipes and cigarettes. Her house sat on a pretty bit of land -- probably'll go to auction, if it's not snatched up by the government -- such a shame, such a shame.

Now that was just sad in so many ways, if for different reasons than those big ol' boots tromping around on the porch above him gave, but Wander had an inkling that things would turn out alright for her. Especially as trees gave way to fields, and he saw the house up ahead on a knoll beyond a sea of tall grass. It was a small affair with a shed out back, already a little ramshackle and worn down, with a copse of trees dark behind it. A small orange figure topped by a bright green hat moved around in the yard.

He didn't notice Wander arrive until Wander reached over the fence with his walking stick to flick his hat off. With a yelp, his fingers caught the brim of his half-unseated hat. He turned around, a frown on his face before he saw who it was. A sunny grin broke out.

"Wander!"

"Wander," Wander said, doffing his own hat as he leaned against the fence. "I was thinkin' I'd find ya here."

"One of you use your different name!" a voice yelled from the other side of the house, followed by Sylvia poking her head around the wall. "I'm not doing this 'Wander' 'Wander' nonsense again," she added, poor imitations of both Wanders' voices and all.

The orange Wander spread his arms, and with the same enthusiasm as before, said, "Sketchbook!"

"Wander," Sketchbook repeated, tipping his hat again. It was only proper to let the host keep his name. Wander ignored the polite distance (and fence) between the two of them to drag him into a hug.

When he was released, Sketchbook headed to the gate and let himself into the yard. Wander had been busy settling in, he could see. So far, Wander had pulled out all the bedding and draped it across lines and fences, weeded the flower beds, and had been painting the fence when Sketchbook had arrived. He had streaks of white in his fur and on his face, and had graciously shared some with Sketchbook.

"I heard the old lady ain't gonna make it."

Wander blew a raspberry, taking Sketchbook's walking stick from him and swapping it with his hand instead. "We'll have no talk of that here. Ms. Myrtle'll be fine, and she'll have a lovely welcome home. Oh, let me show you what we've done so far!" He pulled Sketchbook along, giving him the tour of the yard.

"Just look at these cute little sheets, and these napkins!" Wander held up a cloth napkin with flowers curling along the edges. "That's hand embroidered there. She's got a real knack for it, but her hands are a bit arthritic nowadays, so she ain't been able to keep up. I've been doin' my best to fix some of the wear-n-tear. And did you know she's got wild berries out back? All kinds!"

"It's real amazing," Sylvia said flatly as they joined her in the back. She had leaves in her comb and smears of berry juice all across her hide. In her hands she wielded a pair of pruning sheers. The tangled brambles poured out from the thicket like some sort of beast climbing its way into Ms. Myrtle's yard. A chicken coop was already falling victim to its creep, and a pile of clippings was overwhelming the scant firewood pile next to the shed. A few chickens were pecking curiously at them. "I've been hacking away at these for hours. But hey, since _you're_ here, maybe you could take a stab at them while _I_ take a break."

"Yes'm," Sketchbook agreed, only for Wander to completely ignore that.

"Aw, Sylvia!" he whined, hanging off of Sketchbook's arm. "He only just arrived. How 'bout we _all_ take a break, and I'll make us lunch!"

Sylvia looked between Sketchbook, the clippers, and the remaining vines, then shrugged and tossed the clippers away. "Eh, sure. But later," she said pointedly, like Sketchbook might try to wheedle his way out of it. Which was silly, as a Wander like him was a sight better suited to dealing with some wild brambles than a hearth Wander or Sylvia.

Wander led them all into the house so he could show Sketchbook the tiny building and piled some more books on a second chair for Sketchbook at the table. Then, while he put together lunch, he banished them both from the house until they were clean. Sylvia led Sketchbook to the wash basin. She was covered in berry gore, and he had stickers and burrs all in his fur, along with a few smears of paint.

"So how'd you wind up here?" Sylvia asked as she pumped water into the metal tub. At the sink just inside, Wander was singing a song as he worked. "A little close to civilization, isn't it?"

"I like civilization," Sketchbook said, voice a little offended. "'N' while bein' 'round civilization, as a matter a fact, I heard some of them human folk talkin' 'bout this place 'n' the old lady that lived here. Seemed more int'rested in the property than her, though. Pretty sure the government's gonna take it or put it on auction. Least that's what they were sayin'. Ain't no family to inherit."

Sylvia snorted. "I figured she was some sort of hermit or something. No phone lines, a generator out back instead of power lines. It's a wonder she didn't just die here and nobody found out for weeks."

"Lots of people this way don't have power," Sketchbook explained, since so far as he knew, this Sylvia came from a more urban place. "Just too far, too scattered. 'S why I'm a bit disappointed with how them people were goin' on 'bout this place. People oughta be stickin' together, not vyin' for each other's land."

Sketchbook knocked at the window above the basin and asked for a comb. Wander handed it through, then stuck his head out the window. "Let's not be talkin' 'bout death 'n' taxes," he said. "She's gonna come back, remember?"

"Sure as sunshine she is," Sketchbook agreed amiably. There wasn't any reason to doubt Wander, since Wanders had a knack for being right about these sort of things. "Now where were ya in that song? _In th' Big Rock Candy Mountains..._ "

" _Ya never change your socks,_ " Wander picked up, ducking back into the house. " _'N the little streams of alcohol come tricklin' down the rocks_ ," they continued together, once Sketchbook knew the place. Wander and Sketchbook kept up their duet through the open window as Sketchbook brushed out all the tangles and briars, washed his hands and face, and patted them dry on the nicely embroidered linen hanging everywhere.

"We should get some hooch in here," Wander said as he pulled a stool over to the table so he could more easily reach the table top to set out plates and silverware. "I noticed a few empty jugs out back. And I'm pretty sure Wander's down in the hollow, fixin' up an old distillery. It'd be a good excuse to drop by."

Sketchbook made a gesture like he was pulling on an imaginary goatee, much like a certain rustier colored, much eviler looking Wander sported. "Ol' Scratch Wander?"

"Yeah, but don't call him that. How'd ya know?"

"Jest a guess. That's kinda his realm. Not real domestic or nature-lovin', ya git me?"

"Don't be silly! He loves nature and bein' domestic, so long as it results in somethin' he can get blind drunk on."

They laughed, then dug into the spread of perishables from Ms. Myrtle's ice box that Wander'd set out.

Later, per his promise, Sketchbook set about wrangling the berry bushes into some semblance of order while Sylvia focused her attention on patching up the coop. Wander joined him with a basket and began to pick his way through the chopped vines for fruit, gathering a gaggle of chickens while he was at it.

Together, they sang and chattered and gossiped their way through the impromptu harvest, until the sun crept toward the horizon and the little knoll was soon enveloped in shadows from the surrounding mountains. Distant lights dotted the forest, farmers and woodsmen on their porches or other Wanders tending other places.

After a second wash to clean themselves up, the two pulled down all the dried linens and carefully folded and stored them inside the chest and drawers in the house.

Their work for the day done, Sketchbook and Wander climbed into the rocker on the porch while Sylvia curled up nearby. Her tail wrapped around one of the rocker legs to keep it gently moving since neither Wander was tall enough to touch the ground without sitting on the edge of the chair. They cuddled together as fireflies began to blink and bob in the valley around them, and the moon rose high in a sky sparkling with stars. The smell of woodsmoke and night-blooming flowers blew in from somewhere off in the darkness.

When they fell asleep, Sylvia wrapped her tail around herself and closed her own eyes. There was still more work tomorrow.

The rocker slowed, then stopped.


	2. The Greatest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wander has a story for a rainy day.

Wander woke up to a raindrops plinking on the tin roof and light filtering into the room, grey and wet and soft. He could hear Sylvia's gentle snoring from somewhere in the gloomy shadows pooling on the floor. Somewhere off in the distance, thunder growled.

He stretched out, almost hitting Sketchbook who was curled up beside him, before climbing out of his hat and pulling it onto his head. Carefully, Wander climbed down from the bed, socked feet feeling blindly for the rug on the floor. He caught an edge of the bed skirt, slipped, and hit the ground with a thud. He held his breath.

Sylvia continued snoring.

"Are ya okay?" Sketchbook whispered, peeking over the edge of the bed.

Wander nodded, then mouthed an apology as Sketchbook joined him on the floor and, with shoes in hand, they crept for the bedroom door.

In the kitchen, Wander put on a kettle of water and watched it like a hawk so it didn't whistle and disturb Sylvia, though the likelihood of her waking up for anything less than a four-alarm fire was very, very low. Sketchbook climbed up on the counter to fetch two old, cracked mugs, tea, and the jar of honey, warm and orange like Wander.

When their tea was ready, they pulled a quilted blanket out onto the porch and nested on the rocking chair to watch the rain fall, cradling their mugs in hand. The rain softened the edges of everything from the fence to the shed to the far distant mountains covered in a blue-grey haze, so that they seemed to simply melt into the sky.

Sketchbook rested his cheek on Wander's head and closed his eyes, enjoying the smell of rain mixed with Wander's scent that reminded him of dried flowers and starlight. The storm that threatened somewhere off in the distance was echoed by the quiet purring between the two of them, and other Wanders were calling out to each other all across the mountains.

"Did you ever hear 'bout Lord Hater 'n' his Watchdog army," Wander said lazily as the updates on mushroom patches, rusting trucks, and logging roads faded into the fog.

"A little here 'n' there. Big fella, shoots lightnin' or sumthin'?" Sketchbook'd never gotten a complete tale out of anyone who mentioned him whenever they'd be holed up during storms. Those were usually more pressing matters, like the rain coming down hard and lightning striking every other tree. This was the first time Sketchbook had heard him mentioned when the storm was so far away.

"He's bigger 'n life, throwin' down storm clouds and rippin' up mighty oaks. And lightnin', yeah. Hatey loooooves his lightnin'," Wander began, settling in for a story. "He's nuthin' but bones glowin' white like moonlight and draped in a cowl like death himself. I met him once, y'know, 'cross the rose ridge. The Binglebops were havin' their spring festival, so you can bet Syl and I were gonna be there. But before _we_ got there, _he_ got there.

"Hater came in, rollin' like the thunder, shadow longer than the storm clouds 'round him were tall, Watchdogs e'erywhere like raindrops. I figured he was there for all them feats of strength, y'know. Before all this, I'd heard from Wander who heard from Wander that Hater loved showin' off how cool he was."

"For bein' a Hater, he sure seems t' love a lotta things. 'N' was he cool?" Sketchbook asked as an expectant lull fell in the story.

Wander twisted around, handing off his mug so he could throw his arms wide. "Was he ever! We did all sortsa games, ring tosses and eatin' contests and races. He was a great sport in all of 'em. I even won a few!"

Sketchbook made the appropriately impressed noises, though he doubted Wander had won _just_ a few. He knew Wander had a bit of a competitive streak, to put it kindly, but he'd let him have the lie. It probably wasn't even the first in this story. Wanders always went for interesting over honest any day in their tales.

"But lemme tell you about the best part. When Hater arrived, he threw down this gigantic boulder, like tossing a pebble, right onto King Bingleborp's house."

Sketchbook sipped his tea. "Seems kinda rude. Why?"

The question caught Wander off-guard. He took a moment to answer. "I.... think maybe to show how strong he was? Or he just didn't like King Bingleborp's house. But anyway! That boulder was sittin' there the whole time, 'til, right at the end, when he cracked it so hard it crumbled to dust."

"Why?"

"Why, t' show how strong he was," Wander repeated, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at Sketchbook's question. "We were racin' one last time time for th' Greatest in the Galaxy title which Hatey came up with, 'cause he likes to think big as he is. Hater blew past Syl and me and won _so hard_ that he crashed right into the boulder! Poor thing didn't stand a chance 'gainst him. It just cracked, then _fwhoom_ , nuthin' but dust."

"An' the house?"

"Turns out, it was fine! He threw the rock close enough t' scratch some paint on the front steps, but that was it. Then, and this is the best part, a rainbow appeared!" Wander threw his arms wide and almost toppled off the chair as it rocked with his movement, if not for Sketchbook grabbing his arm. "Arcin' right across the sky over King Bingleborp's house. It was the prettiest rainbow I ever saw," he finished, cuddling back into Sketchbook's arms and away from the edge of the rocker. "And it wouldn'ta been possible without Lord Hater."

"I bet," Sketchbook said. "So where did this Lord Hater go after all that?"

"He continued on over yonder, y'know. More prizes to win, people to impress." Wander fell silent, and his gaze drifted to the horizon. Sketchbook's followed.

The grey cloud cover crept across the mountains, thicker and darker the farther it got, roiling like someone was pitching a fit in its haze.

""Wanna go for a walk?" Wander asked.

Sketchbook huffed a laugh and finished his tea. That was an impressively round-about way even for a Wander to ask if someone wanted to go hunt giants.

"Sure thing, kitten."

**Author's Note:**

> idk idk have an AU I guess. Dunno where this will go or if it will go, but I had an idea, and it is a thing that exists now. Which is really all that I expect of it. There isn't much of a point beyond that. hmu @[storiesbybest](http://storiesbybest.tumblr.com/)


End file.
